


Wake

by stunningepiphanies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stunningepiphanies/pseuds/stunningepiphanies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1973: It’s not twelve hours after Deanna and Samuel’s deaths that the family starts arriving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake

It’s not twelve hours after Deanna and Samuel’s deaths that the family starts arriving. They look nothing like what John had assumed her family would be like. They're all hardened looking, grizzled, more like his family than how he'd imagined hers.

John holds Mary’s hand through all of it, the greetings, the condolences, the strangers sleeping in her house. He half expects her to tell him to go, that this is just a family thing and he’s not welcome. She never does.

John isn’t sure about Mary’s family. They're too…intense. They stare him down during the wake, like they’re judging him just for breathing. Some of the ballsier ones even talk to him when they come to offer Mary their sympathies. They never drill him for too long. Mary always fixes them with a look he knows he’ll see in his nightmares and they scuttle away, looking ashamed.

One of the meaner looking ones corners him while Mary’s in the bathroom, fixing her aunt’s makeup. The man can't be older than his father, but he’s got this look about him that just seems so much older. John knows that look. That’s the look of a man who’s seen too damn much in life to keep whole. It’s the same look he has to train himself to hide every moring.

“So, you’re the one who’s got our Mary all boy crazy,” the man says, crossing his arms.

John is not deterred. “I wouldn't say ‘crazy’, but I'll take it,” he says with a smile. “John Winchester.” He holds out his hand in a sort-of peace offering, but the guy doesn’t take it. John awkwardly pulls back.

“What sort of work do you do, John?”

“I’m a mechanic. Just repair, y'know. The boring kind.”

“Is that good money, son?” Suddenly, this has become a round of twenty questions. And the stakes, John suspects, are his balls.

“It’s a living,” he admits “but I’m not actually working right now.”

The man’s eyes narrow. “And why’s that?”

“I’ve been out of town for a while.”

“Where?”

“Overseas.”

There's a hell of a lot hovering behind that word, "overseas", and it’s all John has to say. The guy takes a half step back, and John prepares for the usual song and dance. The stuttered apologies and reluctant eye contact, followed by getting the hell away from him. _Politely_ , of course, but still running away like he’s some fucking human time bomb.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, the man visibly relaxes, looking _pleased_ of all things. He opens his mouth to continue the interrogation, but Mary chooses that exact time to sidle up next to John, thank god. She leans into him and tucks her arm in his, fixing the man with a cold stare John never wants to be on the receiving end of.

“Sweetie,” she says, more steel in her voice than necessary. “I see you've met Uncle Mark. What're you two talking about?” She’s talking more to her “uncle” than John, now. There’s a smile frozen on her face, more furious that genuinely happy. He doesn't seem the least bit intimidated by her, and actually laughs in her face.

“Mary!” he says, clapping her on the shoulder, “I’m impressed, girlie. You actually got yourself a boy who can shoot a goddamn-“

The look Mary fixes her uncle with is terrifying, worse than the ones she’s been giving the rest of her family. There’s a very real threat of violence in her eyes. It looks so wrong on her, John thinks, so ugly on her pretty face. It shuts her uncle up, though. The man looks startled to hell, like he wasn't expecting so angry and hateful to come from someone as sweet and gentle as Mary.

_Yeah, well, that makes two of us, buddy._

Slowly, Mary turns to face him, that frozen smile back in place. “John, sweetie,” she says, clearly straining to keep up that saccharine-sweet tone, “can you run to the car real quick and grab my purse? I left it in the trunk.”

They both know it’s not true. John carried it in himself after Mary dropped it while being accosted by a gaggle of aunts and cousins. It’s is hanging on the coat rack in the corner, in plain sight. But John’s not stupid, there’s something _bad_ wrong right now and she doesn't want him to see it.

So he does what any smart man in his position would do. He nods, plants a kiss on her cheek, and makes a hasty retreat.

Ten minutes later, John returns empty handed to a much quieter funeral home. In no time at all, he’s found Mary again and resolves to never leave her the rest of the funeral. It doesn’t really matter, though. After that, everyone in the building refuses to even make eye contact with him.


End file.
